


we fell in love in october

by kaspbrak-tozier89 (summercarntspel), summercarntspel



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Character Study, Fluff, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, Kid Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Light Angst, M/M, Married Couple, October Prompt Challenge, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Texting, look it's none of my business what this is about, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26825785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summercarntspel/pseuds/kaspbrak-tozier89, https://archiveofourown.org/users/summercarntspel/pseuds/summercarntspel
Summary: 31 prompts31 ficlets/poems/prompt responsesreddie-centric, but other ships may be addedexpect variety in length, POV, timeline, universe, and anything else you can think ofHappy Promptober, clowntown!
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	1. me in your sweater, you said it looked better

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Sweater Weather  
> POV: Eddie  
> Teen Reddie  
> SFW  
> Title Inspo: Heather by Conan Gray

Eddie finds the sweater scrunched up in a ball and hidden in the folds of the hammock, half-jammed under the pillow at the end closest to the hatch. The color reminds him of that delicious natural honey the Toziers always have, the stuff they buy straight from a beekeeper whose teeth Wentworth works on, and Eddie isn’t supposed to eat that honey because his mother insists it’ll give him botulism, but that no longer stops him from using the little swirly dipper thing to drizzle a healthy dollop into hot tea when he goes to Richie’s. Richie doesn’t even tease him for it anymore, either, since he secretly likes hot tea with honey just as much, and even went out of his way to buy them a special box of English Afternoon to drink while they read comics, since the rec room at the Toziers gets a little chilly the closer they creep towards winter.

Speaking of Richie, or, maybe just thinking of him, Eddie supposes, the sweater is his. Eddie knows, because Richie was wearing it the other day, had complained about the way the sleeves felt heavy against his wrists, about how his mother had gotten it for him at Freese’s without having him there to try it on. The moment he deemed himself warm enough to strip it off without shivering, he tossed it aside, and, when he realized it was too cold to just hang out in a t-shirt, he’d dug through the corner he’d long-ago claimed for his shit and pulled out a ratty old sweatshirt to wear instead.

Eddie stretches out in the hammock, relishing in having the whole thing to himself, at least until another Loser shows up for their Saturday meetup. He’s the first one there, which isn’t surprising, considering just how fast he got the hell out of his house that morning, wanting, needing to get away from his mother and her ranting about _those two men that live down the street, Eddie, they’re living in sin and in more ways than one!_ He hopped on his bike as soon as he finished with breakfast, pedaled fast, and got to the clubhouse before his watch even beeped for eight o’clock. 

As he wriggles a bit in the hammock, the sweater is still in his hands. It’s really, really soft, actually, and feels pretty warm, and it’s a little nippy in the clubhouse today, especially since it’s so early and he’s several feet underground, and Eddie isn’t wearing a thermal because he tore out of the house before he checked the weather, so.

He probably wouldn’t if anyone was around to see him do it, but in a moment of what he’ll call weakness, should anyone ask, he tugs the sweater on before he settles down with his issue of Spiderman.

Immediately, before he even opens the comic he picked out to read until someone else arrives, he gets smacked in the face with a big whiff of _Richie_. He hadn’t been wearing the sweater for that long, but Eddie knows firsthand how intense Richie smells, how the scent of him clings to throw blankets and shared bed sheets at sleepovers and rarely-borrowed shirts that absolutely do not fit him, absolutely get stretched out by his big head and his broad shoulders.

Eddie isn’t quite sure how he’d describe the way Richie smells, if he had to, and he ponders that as he skims over the first page of his comic.

Sweaty and boyish, he guesses, is how Richie smells, and that sounds like it would be gross, but it isn’t, not really, just smells, to Eddie, like long summer days and doofy Hawaiian shirts and the fake leather of fanny packs warmed in the sun until the buckle got hot enough to burn where it rested against his hip bone.

On top of that, Richie smells like his SpeedStick deodorant and the cheap drugstore cologne he wears, the stuff he used to absolutely douse himself in before Went took one for the team, and for their noses, and taught him all the spots to dab it instead. 

He smells like Dove bar soap, the same stuff he’s used for as long as Eddie has known him, and the shampoo Maggie bought for him to help tame his curls, scented with tea tree oil and citrus, according to the bottle’s green label that Eddie has seen in Richie’s ensuite, smelling sharp and a little sweet.

He smells like the menthol cigarettes he smokes when he’s particularly anxious and the cloves he smokes with Bev when he’s particularly moody. He smells like nacho cheese Doritos he eats by the bag-full and Dr Pepper he shoots out his nose and dribbles down his chin when he bursts into ridiculous donkey brays of laughter mid-sip.

He smells like warmth. He smells like familiarity, like friendship.

He smells, Eddie thinks, like _home_ _,_ more like home than the place where Eddie sleeps at night, more like home than the potpourri-covered Kaspbrak house, floral and cloying and suffocating.

Eddie flicks his eyes through the clubhouse, maybe a little paranoid even though he knows he’s alone, and pinches the collar of the sweater between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing the soft material for a moment before he tugs it up over his nose, takes a deep breath in.

His eyes flutter, his stomach flips, and he stares at his comic book page, not reading, not even pretending to read, just looking, unfocused, at the colors while he lets himself just feel for a second.

He’s not stupid.

Well, okay, maybe he is, but not for this reason. He knows what he’s feeling, understands the flaps of butterfly wings scraping against his insides. He’s known for a while, actually, why wrestling with Richie always felt different than wrestling with Stan or Bill, and not just because it happened much more frequently, not just because Richie was much more likely to tackle him to the ground and pin his wrists to the grass, to settle heavy on his tummy and grin down at him with eyes big and happy behind his glasses, to lean down and blow a sloppy, slobbery raspberry on his cheek and cackle when Eddie screamed until his lungs ached with it, screamed until his face went almost purple as he shoved weakly at Richie’s chest, maybe not shoving as hard as he could if he really wanted him off.

Eddie isn’t stupid. He knows what it means, what all of it means, knows he’s just like those two men living in sin down the road, and that scares him, sure, but doesn’t terrify him nearly as much now as it did when he was eleven or so and started to really pay attention to the clammy palms and bellyaches he seemed to always be inflicted with the moment Richie gave him even the tiniest smile, bestowed upon him the smallest bit of attention.

He knows, and he used to think he’d never tell anyone, certainly never tell _Richie_ , but the older he gets, the more he’s tempted, the more he has to bite his tongue to keep from spilling his guts in the form of a stuttered confession, a misplaced admission, a _you look really good today, Rich, and you smell good, and I know I just kicked you hard enough to bruise when you tried to cuddle me while we watched this dumb movie on the couch but there’s nothing I want more than to have you hold me, to have you know how I feel, to have you feel the same, maybe, and I hope that’s okay, even though I know it really, really isn’t, Richie, I know it isn’t okay, but you make me feel like it just might be_.

Maybe he’ll say that someday. 

Maybe he’ll say it today, when Richie inevitably monkeys his way into the hammock and tries to jokingly spoon Eddie, burying his nose in Eddie’s hair and asking what he’s reading, says some shit about how _you smell just like you mom, Spaghetti, I gotta be careful I don’t cream my pants!_

Maybe he’ll tell Richie how he feels, tell him how he swears there’s this missing gap in his heart that gets filled when Richie smiles at him, tell him how he wore his sweater because that was the next best thing to getting a sweaty, gangly-armed hug.

Maybe he’ll tell Richie, but maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll say nothing at all when Bill gets to the clubhouse about an hour after him and squints like he’s trying to figure something out, maybe he’ll change the subject when Bev compliments how the warm yellow looks with his skin tone, maybe he’ll just shrug when Stan and Mike and Ben all ask if he was cold when he got down to the clubhouse, if he didn’t bring along a jacket.

Maybe he’ll offer a snappy, bitchy response when Richie asks why he’s wearing the sweater, asks if _this means we’re officially betrothed, dear Edward, I believe the exchanging of garments is part of courting!_

Maybe he’ll just smile when Richie bikes home with him that evening and tells him, in that quiet, almost shy voice he uses sometimes when it’s just the two of them, only ever seems to use when it’s just the two of them, that the sweater looks good on him, looks better on him, that _you should just keep it, Eds, since you look so dang cute in it_.

Maybe Richie will lean in closer than Eddie can ever remember him leaning, both of them hidden in the dark doorstep of Eddie’s house, and he’ll look embarrassed, look ready to cry, almost, but he’ll steel his face and smile and smack a quick, gentle peck to Eddie’s cheek, dry lips feeling much softer than they look, and he’ll mutter _you really do look cute_ before he sprints back to his bike and sets off towards his house, risking eating shit on the sidewalk as he turns to grin at Eddie over his shoulder, bright red face clear even in the dim twilight as he calls a _see ya tomorrow, Spaghetti Man!_ and winks.

  
Maybe Eddie will touch his cheek, the spot warm where Richie kissed him, _kissed him,_ and run inside, fling himself down on his bed and peel off the sweater to hide his face in it and laugh, laugh so hard tears roll down his cheeks and dampen the soft, soft knit fabric because maybe he doesn’t have to tell Richie anything after all because maybe Richie already knows.


	2. there's things in there that scratch about

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Haunted/Haunting  
> POV: Eddie  
> Kid Reddie  
> SFW  
> Title Inspo: Haunted House by Florence + The Machine

If anyone asks, it’s all Billy’s fault.

They’re having a sleepover at Richie’s house, their little group of four, on Friday. They all got picked up by Richie’s dad after school and he took them to McDonald’s and bought them McNuggets and fries to share and he even let them eat in the  _ car _ , which Mommy never, ever lets Eddie do, and Richie’s daddy didn’t even get mad when Richie dribbled a glob of ketchup onto the backseat, just said that’s why they had the blanket down back there and winked at the boys in the mirror.

Eddie had decided a long time ago that Richie’s dad was cool, but he seemed to get cooler and cooler all the time!

The boys spent the afternoon playing in the yard, running from the sandbox to the swingset and back again, pretending to be pirates having sword fights with a couple big sticks they found at the edge of the yard before it turned into The Woods, which were big and scary and they weren’t supposed to walk through without a grownup. They had to go in a little, actually, to get four sticks big enough to fight, but they held hands and only went in a  _ little _ , so Eddie didn’t think it counted, really. And if it did, Richie said he’d make sure his mommy and daddy knew it was  _ his  _ idea.

After dinner, which was a pizza that Richie’s mommy and daddy had delivered to the house, another thing Mommy never does at home, Richie’s mommy made them a big bowl of popcorn and got them all tucked in on the rec room couch to watch movies. They watched  _ The Muppet Movie _ , and Richie kept calling Eddie his Kermie in a dumb Miss Piggy Voice and trying to kiss his cheeks, and Eddie even let him a couple times just so he could make a face and wipe the kisses away with his palm because that made Stan and Billy laugh, then they watched  _ The Wizard of Oz _ and danced around to "Follow the Yellow Brick Road." When the movie finished, they got changed into pajamas and all brushed their teeth together at the sink in Richie’s bathroom, and they got to use a neat little timer Richie’s daddy gave him that buzzed when he’d brushed for long enough, then they settled in for bed, Richie and Eddie in Richie’s bed since Eddie is the littlest and always gets cold sleeping on the floor, and Stan and Billy in sleeping bags.

Everything was fine until Billy started telling stories like he always does, and Eddie usually likes his stories just as much as the next guy, but this time they’re pretty scary, actually, and all about ghosts in a big haunted house, and when everyone else falls asleep, Eddie stares at the ceiling and thinks about whether or not he’s ever been in a house that’s haunted by a spooky ghost, and he’s too scared to close his eyes.

That’s when he hears a noise downstairs and is convinced, in that moment, that not only has he been in a haunted house before, he’s in one right  _ now _ , Richie’s house is  _ haunted _ , there’s a  _ ghost  _ downstairs, and it’s gonna come and try to get him and all his buddies!

So, he does what any brave little boy would do: he decides he’s gotta 'vestigate, just like Scooby-Doo! He almost wakes someone to come along, but he’s afraid they’ll tease him and tell him there’s no ghost, and maybe they’ll be right, but what if they say that and there is a ghost after all? What then? No, he’ll just go alone because he’s pretty little and he can probably hide from the ghost when he sees it, and then he’ll run back upstairs and get his friends. That’s a good plan!

Armed with Beans the Monkey, Richie’s second-favorite stuffed animal, the one he lets Eddie cuddle with during sleepovers while Richie cuddles Martin the Panda close to his own chest, Eddie creeps out of Richie’s bedroom and down the hall. It’s late, he thinks, but not too late, since there are still lights on in the hallway and shining up the stairs, so he moves quickly, tiptoeing on the carpeted steps until he reaches the bottom and can poke his head out around the corner, holding his breath in the anticipation of seeing some spooky something or other.

He doesn’t, though. All he sees is Richie’s daddy in his green, soft-looking bathrobe, pouring a big glass of chocolate milk and humming to himself. Mommy never hums, but Eddie remembers, he thinks, his own daddy humming before he got too sick, and maybe humming is just something daddies do. Eddie likes the way it sounds, the humming, and kinda wishes he heard it more often, but that thought hurts a little, makes his chest feel like it’s being squeezed, and he suddenly misses his daddy an awful lot, more than he has, probably, since Father’s Day in June, the first one he had without his daddy, the one where he told Richie how neat it was that Mr. T took him fishing while Eddie’s mommy made him stay inside and say a bunch’a prayers that she said his daddy would hear, maybe, if he went up instead’a down, and when Eddie asked what that meant, she got all huffy and stomped away. Richie had looked sad when Eddie told him that and said Eddie could come fishing next time they went, but Mommy hadn't let him go along.

“Hey there, doc, you okay? Bad dream?”

Eddie blinks and squeezes Beans a little tighter, surprised to find that there are tears in his eyes. He sniffles hard and scowls, feeling like a baby in the worst, worst way, and he shakes his head.

“Ah,” Richie’s daddy says, and Eddie notices he’s looking at him, really looking at him like grownups do sometimes, like they know what he’s thinking without him even saying it, and his own daddy used to do that, too, he thinks. “I see Richie parted with Beans for the night. He keepin’ you company?”

Eddie nods and swallows hard, scrunching his nose up.

“Richie always lets me cuddle Beans,” he says, sniffling hard again and bringing Beans up to bury his face in the monkey’s soft fur, “He’s got Martin.”

Richie’s daddy smiles, big and bright, and Eddie thinks he looks like Richie, or maybe Richie looks like him. He walks over to Eddie from where he was standing by the cabinet and he kneels down with a grunt, settling on his knees, and he’s just about as tall as Eddie like that, and that makes Eddie feel kinda good, actually. He’s pretty little, even among his friends, and it’s kinda nice to not have to look up to see the face in front of him.

One big hand reaching out, Richie’s daddy touches Beans’ head, then moves up to ruffle through Eddie’s hair, and Eddie’s mommy always hated when Daddy did that, said it made his hair _ a rat’s nest, Frank, look at what you did! _ , but Eddie likes it, likes the feeling of it, and tips his head a little, which makes Richie’s daddy laugh and do it again.

“What time is it?” Eddie asks with Richie’s daddy’s hand still on his head, warm and heavy. “Am I in trouble for bein’ up past bedtime?”

“Not too late,” Richie’s daddy says, and that doesn’t answer Eddie’s question, really, and when Eddie doesn’t answer Mommy like she wants, she gets real mad and sad, but Eddie doesn’t mind, actually, that Richie’s daddy doesn’t tell him what time it is. “What’s up, doc? You feelin’ okay?”

Eddie nods once, even though it’s kinda hard with the big hand on his head, and shrugs his weentsy shoulders up and down, one little fist wrapped around Beans’ neck.

“Aw, c’mon, you can tell me. Did one of the boys say something mean to you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You sure?” Richie’s daddy asks, and he takes his hand back, finally, and Eddie misses it, kinda, but then Richie’s daddy gets back on his feet and scoops Eddie onto his hip like it's easy-peasy even though Mommy keeps telling him he’s getting too big to be held like that. “You know if one of them said something mean, I’ll take Rocky up there to bite their toes.”

Eddie giggles and buries his face in Richie’s daddy’s shoulder, enjoying the rumbling he feels there when Richie’s daddy laughs a little, too. Rocky, Richie’s dog, is real old and drooly, and Eddie knows Rocky’d slobber before he’d bite, but that’s funny, too.

“You want some chocolate milk, doc?” Richie’s daddy asks, carrying Eddie over to where he has his glass and the milk jug on the counter, “Sometimes a snack makes me feel better when I can’t sleep.”

Eddie goes to say yes, because he loves chocolate milk and Mommy doesn’t let him have it very often, but he winds up yawning instead, big enough to make his eyes close, and he buries his face in Richie’s daddy’s neck, leaning into him like he used to lean into Daddy.

“Thought there was a ghost,” Eddie says, quiet, speaking entirely into Richie’s daddy’s neck, “Billy was tellin’ a scary story and then I heard, um, spooky sounds, and-and I… There’s no ghost, huh? No ghost?”

“No ghost down here ‘cept for me, kiddo,” Richie’s daddy says, opening the fridge to put the milk back, still holding Eddie on his hip, “You wanna investigate before you go back upstairs? We can check just to be sure.”

Eddie shakes his head. He should ‘vestigate, probably, but he’s real tired now, and he doesn’t wanna fall asleep until he’s back up in Richie’s bed.

“Well, how about this,” Richie’s daddy says, and Eddie feels a big hand ruffling his hair again as Richie’s daddy carries him back across the kitchen, “I’ll take you up to bed and get you all settled, then I’ll investigate. If I find anything, I’ll be sure to come and get’cha up so we can make sure to get ‘im. Okay, doc?”

“M’kay,” Eddie says, squeezing Beans tight as Richie’s daddy carries him up the stairs and down the hall. He opens the door gently and plops Eddie down onto the bed, next to where Richie is sleeping all curled around Martin. Eddie thinks Richie is drooling on his pillow, which is yucky, but he doesn’t mind too much since he’s got his own to lay his head on. “Um, Mr. T?”

“Yeah, doc?”

“Thanks,” Eddie says, wriggling until he can get back under the covers with Richie, nuzzling his face into Beans and the pillow. He doesn’t know why he’s thanking Richie’s daddy, but it seems like the right thing to say, especially when Richie’s daddy smiles down at him.

“You got it, doc,” Richie’s daddy says, and he leans down to ruffle Eddie’s hair one more time, then twists to kiss Richie’s forehead before he straightens back up. He points a thumb over his shoulder, back towards the open bedroom door. “I’ll leave it open a little so you have some light in here, and I’ll come right back if I find a ghost, okay?”

Eddie nods, almost asleep already, and blinks a couple times. “Mhm. Night-night.”

“Goodnight, Eddie. I’ll be right downstairs, okay? And if you can’t find me there, I’ll be right down the hall.”

Nodding again, Eddie closes his eyes and holds Beans close, drifting off to the sound of Richie’s daddy’s footsteps, so much like Daddy’s he can pretend for the second that they are, stepping back through the room and into the hall.


	3. how sweet it is (to be loved by you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Candy Apples  
> POV: Richie  
> Post-Derry 2, Married Reddie  
> potentially NSFW  
> Title Inspo: How Sweet it Is by James Taylor

Richie is smack in the middle of the grocery trip when his eyes land on something he wants that is decidedly  _ not _ on Eddie’s carefully-crafted list.

Well, okay, to be fair, he’s seen a lot of things he wants that aren’t on the list, which is at least partly because when they have to shop on weekends, Eddie is partial to going right in that dreadful gap between breakfast and lunch to avoid the crowds and Richie’s meal of two bowls of Froot Loops didn’t fill him up all that much, so he’s already peckish and everything looks good, even the bumpy alligator skin of the avocados Eddie deems both too expensive and too firm to be worth buying this week, but this is the first non-list thing he sees that he actually grabs for, chucking into the cart he’s manning while Eddie’s over at the deli counter getting ham and turkey.

“What’re you trying to sneak into that cart without me noticing?”

Richie snaps his head up and yanks his hand away from where he’d been tucking his contraband between a baggie of baby carrots and a box of Club Crackers. He knows he must look just like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, which, if you can believe it, is something he was intimately familiar with as a child.

“A treat,” he says, flashing Eddie a sheepish grin as he takes the proffered deli bags of meat and drops them into the cart. “Got one for me and one for you, my love.”

“You think being cute lets you get away with everything,” Eddie grumbles, but, like always, his big eyes shine because Richie  _ is  _ cute, thank you, and Eddie thinks so, which is still a trip even after so many years. He bends forward to look into the cart and scrunches his nose up, little pinch forming between his angry eyebrows before he turns to arch one at Richie. “I don’t even like candy apples.”

Richie frowns and crosses his arms over his chest, going into the well-known stance of an adult who is about to have an argument with his husband in the middle of the candy aisle at a grocery store.

“What do you mean you don’t like candy apples?” he asks, sounding more zealous than he probably should about something that ostensibly doesn’t matter at all, but maybe he’s in the mood to push Eddie’s buttons because, you know, when is he not? “You loved them when we were kids.”

Eddie scoffs and crosses his arms, too, mirroring Richie's posture down to the tension in his shoulders.

"Of course I fucking liked them when we were kids," Eddie says, an air of  _ duh _ to his tone that activates Richie's fight or flight response—and, when given the option with Eddie, he's never once picked flight, since fighting is kind of their love language, has been since long before they realized it  _ was _ love and not just annoyance—"They're just sugar and red dye number forty, Richie, they're, like, a kid's fuckin' dream. They don't even taste good, they're just good for a sugar high." 

"They taste great!" Richie insists, shaking his head like he can't  _ believe _ what he's hearing, can't believe the fucking disrespect Eddie's spewing. "You're just an old fogey." 

"Younger than you," Eddie sneers, eyes cutting to the side when an old woman starts moseying down the aisle, plucking up a couple bags of fun-sized candy bars as she goes. When she gets past them, Eddie turns his full attention back to Richie again. "Put them back, we already have enough sweets." 

"They're fruit!" 

"Covered in sugar!" 

"You're no fun!" 

"That's not what you said last night," Eddie snaps, eyes shining with something that might look, to someone who didn't know, like genuine irritation, but Richie knows better, sees that glitter in those big Bambi browns that tells him Eddie is having fun. "In fact, that's not what you said  _ this morning ."  _

Richie opens his mouth to respond, fully intending to remind Eddie, with a well-practiced and spot-on impression, just exactly who was begging both last night  _ and _ this morning, who said  _ yeah, Rich, yeah, oh, harder,  _ harder _ , pound me, c'mon, plow me, Richie, God, I want that dick, want it so  _ bad _ , Richie, oh, fill me up, fill me  _ up _! _ while digging meticulously filed fingernails into the meat of Richie's ass hard enough to leave little dents. 

All of that is burning on the tip of his tongue, but before he can say any of it, the old woman down the aisle lets out a delighted snort and gives them a look over one hunched shoulder, and that, apparently, is embarrassing enough for Eddie to pull off an impressive three-point turn with the cart after he roughly shoves Richie away from the handle and commandeers it. 

Giggling, Richie follows, but he doesn't say anything until Eddie finally pauses his speed-walking in the middle of the dairy section and starts glaring at those prissy, glass-jarred Yoplaits he likes so much with such fiery intensity that Richie is a little worried the whole shelf of them might shatter. 

Richie knows, like he knows a lot of things but pretends not to because it's funnier, that he shouldn't say anything if he values his sex life or his marriage—and he values both, actually, so—but that, unsurprisingly, doesn't stop him. 

"So-" 

"Don't," Eddie cuts him off, whipping his head around to glare at Richie with a ferocity that, in Richie's wire-crossed brain, comes across hotter, sexier than it probably should. Eddie holds up a finger, still glaring, and shakes his head slowly. "If you shut your fucking mouth, I'll let you buy your stupid fuckin' tooth breakers. Deal?" 

Richie nods, one quick bob of his head, and grins like he just won, because he kind of did, and then turns and stoops a little to dutifully squint at the shelf in front of them. 

"Do we need cottage cheese?" 

They finish shopping without incident and Eddie doesn't even glower too much when their bubbly cashier tells them how much she likes the candy apples as she scans them. Richie doesn't say a word about the treat or the old woman whose day was seemingly made by their little tiff because he's a kind, caring husband. 

Until they get to the car, anyway. 


	4. i ain't afraid of no ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ghosts  
> POV: Eddie  
> Post-Derry 2, Married Reddie  
> potentially NSFW  
> Title Inspo: Ghostbusters by Ray Parker Jr.

Richie 💞🤓 

2:04pm

discourse time

I'm at work, asshole

it's important

FMK the Ghostbusters go

you have read receipts on dickhole I know you opened my msg

cmon man first thought FMK Ghostbusters GO

How is This important enough to bother me at work? 

is that a rhetorical question

???? No? 

if you answered me fast we'd already be done w this convo

fuck off

Also there are four Ghostbusters?

yes and

How am I supposed to FMK four people? 

uhh fuck two of them duh 

That? Negates the entirety of the game? 

The whole point is that there are three options and three people

just say you wanna marry spengler bc he looks like me and go

only if you say you wanna fuck Stantz because he looks like me

ope

Stop appropriating midwestern culture, you’re from fucking Maine

I lived in chitown for a decade and a half

1\. That doesn’t count

2\. Never call it Chi-Town again

ope

🙄

anyway my answer to fmk is to fuck all of them

and also fuck janine and louis

and slimer

and the stay puft marshmallow man 🥵

Not Dana?

too tall for my taste

You know i prefer shorties

Fuck you.

promise? 🥵🥵🥵🍆💦

Maybe if you let me get back to work.

You got it, sexy

I’ll be looking forward to getting Slimer’d 💦

Jesus Christ

Leave me alone

You don’t mean that 😁

Of course I don’t

🥺ily[ 👨❤️💋👨](https://emojipedia.org/kiss-man-man/)

💞


End file.
